


You're Already The Voice Inside My Head

by Yognautical (KiiKitsune)



Category: ChaosVille - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Frottage, M/M, Murder, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiiKitsune/pseuds/Yognautical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gar has lost Dave too many times to let him stay stranded on some other world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Already The Voice Inside My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "I Miss You" by Blink 182.

Contrary to popular belief, Dave has more than one hat. They all look the same, of course, but before Dave began openly showing his magic off it had been pretty easy to lose them. Between being singed by creepers and skewered by spike traps the hats just couldn’t keep up with Dave’s adventuring. Now Dave enchants the hat to stay on his head and deflect damage, but the old ones are still out in the world.

The hat Gar has is water damaged and pink-red along the inner band. There had been an explosion. Dave had hit the wall too hard and fallen into an underground lake. Gar doesn’t think about it anymore. About how he dove in after Dave. How no matter how hard he swam Dave sank faster into the inky darkness. How Dave’s hat had floated up towards him as the man himself began to dissolve under the power of respawn, the last of his air bubbling away.

Dave doesn’t know he kept the hat and Gar always hated himself, just a little bit, for clinging to the morbid token of his own terror. But now… Now he’s glad he did. 

It sits, in all it’s warped and stained glory, in the center of a shaky chalk rune circle. Gar’s normally steady hands wavered drawing the unfamiliar symbols. He hopes they’ll still work because every time he tries to correct them they just end up looking worse. The grasper plants caress his ankles as he passes by them, their leaves persistent but easily ignored. He bends down at each one and places in the items. Waystone. Enderdew. Iron Axe. 

Then he turns to the altar. There isn’t much atop it. What little information he could find on the arcane arts hadn’t told him which items would strengthen its power, much less how to acquire them. Most of the things he’d managed to collect hadn’t yielded much. Until he had the brilliant idea of broadening his search. There were other ways to accumulate power in one place. 

The villager lays sedate between the altar’s wither skull and candelabra. Gar approaches slowly, readjusting his mask over his mouth. His rubber gloves snap as he pulls them on tightly, flexing his fingers. The dagger of sacrifice seems unwieldy when compared to his preferred scalpel, but some things cannot be avoided.

Taking up the blade, Gar makes the first incision. The difference between this and surgery, he thinks, is really only the amount of blood. He’s seeking out arteries on purpose, letting them spray and gush unheeded as he moves on to the next artful cut. He peels apart the skin, the muscle, breaks the bone by viciously pounding it with the handle of the dagger, and inserts the sternum retractor. His goal is bared to him now; pulsating madly and full of bone splinters. Carefully, so carefully, he cuts the valves. The organ is warm in his palms, firm but fleshy as he digs his gloved hands in beneath it and lifts. Blood has gone past his gloves, trailing down his bare arms as he raises the heart high and says the words he practiced so many times. 

He can feel the pull against his own feeble excuse for magic. The heart is enveloped in ashy smoke and then it’s gone. Gar closes his eyes and listens to the short ‘puff’ sounds of the other items being consumed. There is silence.

He’s afraid to turn around, to face his failure. He’ll have to move eventually, but not yet. Not yet-   
The heat of lightning hitting earth flares along his back and the ear-splitting crash of thunder vibrates through his bones. He cries out, blown forward into the corpse by the power of the blast. Gar rolls off of the villager, leaning heavily on the altar and even more blood-covered than he had been a moment earlier. His wide eyed gaze snaps to the man now standing before him, holding that silly ruined hat in both hands looking confused.

“…Dave?”

The man looks up, away from the hat, and at Gar. From that alone, Gar knows it’s him. Dave’s eyes are warm and wonderful, and looking at him again. 

“Gar?” 

He thought he might never hear that voice again either, and he can’t help it when he scrambles forward and just throws himself at Dave. He’s staining everything Dave is wearing with all that blood, but Dave holds his red-slick face with both hands and pulls him away just long enough to rip the surgical mask off and kiss him. Gar is as weak to that as he ever was. Weaker now, probably. 

Gar opens his mouth, seeking out what he craves like a man starved. Dave obliges and Gar can’t breathe but it doesn’t matter. Dave is here.

The kiss breaks and reseals again and again until Dave finally gasps out, “I missed you so much. You have no idea.”

Running his thumb along the soft skin beside Dave’s mouth, smearing the blood that had already rubbed off on him. “Pretty sure I do, Dave.”

Dave glances away for a moment, around at the circle and the altar. “Since when do you play with magic?”

“Since you disappeared.”

Dave looks pained for a second then kisses him again, longer and softer. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. But I’m back now. You brought me back.”

Dave’s fingers find the back of Gar’s neck, carding up through the short waves of brown hair and underneath the scrub cap. Gar leans into it, eyelids drooping as Dave flicks the cap off and continues petting him. 

“Chaosville needs you, Dave,” Gar mumbles, “And I-”

A smile splits Dave’s face. “Don’t you dare say you need me, Gar. That’s a terrible lie.”

Gar licks his lips, tasting Dave’s saliva. “I don’t need you, but I want you. Isn’t that good enough?”

“More than.” The change in Dave’s demeanor is instant. Suddenly he’s predatory, grasping Gar’s hair tightly and stepping further into his space. They walk backwards until Gar feels the stone of the altar pressing against his tailbone. With his freehand, Dave makes a wide sweeping motion and everything flies off the table. The corpse lands with a dull thump somewhere to the left but Gar doesn’t spare it a glance, too preoccupied with watching Dave’s dark eyes go even darker. 

Dave’s eyes had always done that, but the understanding that came with the knowledge of Dave’s demonic nature had him noticing it more. They weren’t just dark with lust; Dave’s iris’ shine with echoes of the hungry void he was made from. His mortal form grows weak like this, a black hole threatening to break free and consume, and watching him is a bit like standing on the precipice of a cliff. It makes Gar’s heart beat faster than the one he’d been holding in his hands.

With the grip on Gar’s hair, Dave makes him bare his neck. Gar expects a kiss, maybe a bite, but nothing comes. Dave just leaves him vulnerable, slipping a hand up under his stained apron to palm over Gar’s pants. The pressure against his cock is wonderful, ripping a groan from him. 

“I can feel your magic now, you know,” Dave squeezes, laying a quick peck on Gar’s chin, “Barely there, but it’s so, so sweet.”

Gar grabs Dave’s shoulders; the man is bony and thin, thinner than Gar remembers, and Gar’s hands are huge against Dave’s deltoids. He drags Dave down to him, clinging tightly and burying his face in Dave’s neck. The hold Dave has on him loosens and slips away, both hands coming to rest on Gar’s hips. He can feel Dave’s erection trapped between them. Gar rolls his hips forward, trying to find friction for the both of them. It’s a blunted feeling; nowhere near as focused as Dave’s fingers had been, but good nonetheless. Like this he can breathe in Dave’s scent and wonder at how he ever could have forgotten it. 

Dave slides his grip down under Gar’s ass and hauls him up onto the altar, following after him. Gar lands with a splash, the pool of blood displaced and seeping over the edges. Their new position lets them thrust harder together. Dave’s hips snap forward against his, grinding between his spread legs, and now Gar clings with his whole body. He presses his thighs against Dave’s sides and leaves handprints over the back of Dave’s jacket. 

“Fuck!” He groans, head lulling back over the edge of the platform. Dave mouths over his Adam’s apple, down to the v-neck of his scrubs and nips at his collarbone.

Gar bucks, forcing his eyes open so he can drink in the sight of Dave. Flushed and gorgeous. Made an utter wreck by Gar’s own bloodied body. He digs his heels into Dave’s backside, spurring the man into more frantic movements. His apron is bunched between them uncomfortably, up around his waist, but there’s not time to get it off. It’s been too long and anything that might take Dave further from him, even for a moment, isn’t worth it. So they rut like beasts, hands moving wildly to grasp at anything they can. 

Dave catches his mouth and sucks on his tongue and he’s done. He shudders and moans, leaves bruises on Dave’s arms, then falls limp. 

Dave is moving slower now, but he’s not finished. Gar tugs at his jacket, letting his own legs slide down and hang off the edge of the altar while he coaxes Dave upwards. The man crawls over him, straddling his chest. Gar curls his fingers, still tingling from his own orgasm, and undoes Dave’s buckle. 

Dave’s prick is a deep pink, slender but long, and it slides easily past Gar’s kiss-red lips. He sucks at the soft, yielding head, flicking his tongue over the slit and lapping up the pleased sound Dave makes. He keeps his hands on Dave’s ass, encouraging him to rock forward and deeper into his mouth. It’s no secret how much he loves doing this, especially for Dave. If he hadn’t spent himself less than a minute ago, the pleasant numbness the motion spreads along his lips would be enough to make him hard again.

Dave’s fingers are in his hair again, nails over his scalp, and he’s telling Gar how perfect he is. How good he looks. How well he’s taking it. 

Warmth settles in his belly at the praise, and Gar pulls Dave in harder, swallowing him down to the root. Dave curses, tipping forward and nearly right off the altar. Gar anchors him though, sucking harder, and when Dave comes it’s straight down his throat. 

Swinging one leg over Gar, Dave lays down on the altar beside him, panting slightly. Gar nestles into him, letting Dave pet his hair and kiss his forehead. He drags his legs up to get more comfortable and throws one on top of Dave to pin him there. 

“I’m not losing you again,” Gar says. 

Dave’s stroking pauses for a moment, then resumes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a promise Dave can’t keep, but it’s nice to pretend.


End file.
